Anthropology 101
by RurouniKon
Summary: The boys are put into groups for their Anthropology assignments. Stuff ensues. I suck at summaries. Style Stan/Kyle & Dip Damien/Pip
1. Chapter 1

**Title: **Anthropology 101

**Author: **RurouniKon

**Pairing: **STyle (Stan/Kyle) & Dip (Damien/Pip)

**Rating: **NC17 – Language, sexual content (later chapters)

**Summary: **Boys are put into groups for an Anthropology assignment. Stuff ensues. I suck at summaries. ):

**Disclaimer: **I don't own South Park, or any of its characters. If I did, it would be much more 'Slashy'. No, it belongs to my personal heroes, Trey Parker and Matt Stone.

**A/N:** The boys are about 18 here. Don't like Slash, BL, Shonen-ai, Yaoi, Homosexual relations? Don't read. It's Simple.

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**Anthropology 101**: Chapter one

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Anthropology has to be one of the hardest classes offered at South Park High. Most of the other electives were simple, easy credits. Professor Leakey, however, seemed to insist on making the student's live just that much harder. Her lecture style teaching and annoying metaphorical examples bored a lot of the students to the point where they were willing to stab the eraser end of the pencil into their left cornea just so they could have an excuse to leave the room.

Not only did this make her one of the highest ranked on the 'South Park High's most hated teachers' list, but it was her ability to hone in on close knit groups of friends and rip them apart by seating them on opposing sides of classrooms. An excellent example is what she made of Stan, Kyle, Kenny and Cartman's group. Her seating arrangement for the boys was Stan being seated at the front of the class, with three rows of seats separating him from Kyle. Cartman being placed four seats across from Stan, and Kenny (had he bothered to show up) would have been seated in the empty desk, three seats from Kyle. She would tell the class at the beginning of every semester that she "split them up to help their concentration," and "in the long run, they'll thank her for it." Crap like that, which no student would ever take at face value.

So now entering the third week of their first semester, the senior kids who were unfortunate enough to receive Mrs. Leakey as their Anthropology professor, were suffering through another painstakingly, excessively, boring lecture on the medicinal methods of ancient cultures. The only student who was graced by the hand of some higher power was Kenny, who has neglected to be present. The other students wished death upon him. He was most likely dead anyway. And that thought brought them comfort. No one should be free from dealing with Mrs. Leakey's lectures.

"So, does anyone know what the term is we use for this process?" Mrs. Leakey's monotone voice drowned through the room, hanging lazily as it was lost in silence, "No one knows the answer? We have been going over this for the last three classes," She growls looking around the classroom of uninterested students, all doing something to preoccupy their boredom. "I know at least some of you must have done the reading." She barks, trying desperately to get the classes attention back. Unsuccessfully she begins scanning the room for a student to call on, "Phillip." She speaks pipes up. Damien raises his head out of the palm he had been resting it on, to watch the professor waddle her way to stand in front of Pip, his Pip. He had decided not long ago that he would claim Pip, and that no one else was allowed to touch him. He just had to work out a means of marking the small blonde, so that others would keep a distance.

"Yes Ma'am?" Pip replied, politely.

"What is the term we use for this process?" She repeats, slamming her hand down hard on the text book Pip had placed out on his desk, "Without checking the text book." Pip pauses and squirms slightly in his seat, choking on the overwhelming amount of perfume drifting into his nostrils from the teacher's clothing.

"Well," Pip begins, now growing more uncomfortable due to the closeness of the professor to himself, "The term most historians would use is trepanation." He replies, trying to inconspicuously pull back as far as he can to try and suck in clean gasps of air. She pauses and raises a brow, surprised that she didn't catch him off guard.

"Very good," She replies, "Can you explain to the class what this process is done for?"

"It's a ritualistic removal of a fragment of the skull, creating a hole. It was used for both medicinal and spiritual purposes, being that many ancient cultures of whom practiced this surgery believed it was going to help the patient be relieved of any pain they were experiencing." Pip answered. Damien smirked; he sure was a smart kid. The professor groaned, mumbling something under her breath as she waddled back to the front of the class and continued the lecture.

The rest of the class continued the same, as it discussed the vaguest topics one could imagine. They may have only been into this class for a couple weeks but you would have thought in that time they would have already completed the introduction into the four fields of Anthropology. "Alright then class," The professor spoke up, glancing down at her watch, "Class is concluded for the day, and please do your readings on the four fields so your groups can select one of them for their assignment." The class froze and stared at the teacher like a deer caught in the headlights of a SUV. Damien watched as a subtle smirk twitched at the corner of her lips. "So you are paying attention," She cooed, watching as the students frantically shoot worried looks amongst themselves. "Yes," She grins, crossing her arms over her chest, "You have group assignments; they're due in two weeks." At the words 'group assignments' the class let out a sigh of relief and proceeded to scan the room for eligible partners. Group assignments meant less work and a better chance at a higher grade. Well, for some of the students at least.

"Sweet," Cartman chirped from the back of the room as he turned his head and called over to Butters, "Ay! Faggot, you're on my team." Butters simply slammed his knuckles together, grinding them in embarrassment.

"W-Well, gosh Eric… I'll be on your team." He replied timidly.

"Hold it one second Mr. Cartman, you cannot just tell Mr. Stotch that he is your teammate." The professor growled, pushing her tiny eye glasses up her nose.

"Why the fuck not?" Cartman snapped, never outgrowing his disrespect for authoritative figures.

"Because," She started, forcing down the anger towards the fat teen for cursing in her class room, "I'll be selecting the four person teams." In one swift groan the entire classroom whined at the news. "I have the list here." She explained, waving a small piece of lined paper in the hand. Clearing her throat she proceeded to ramble off the names. "Team one, Eric, Token, Clyde and Wendy."

"Why do I have to work with that bitch!?" Cartman snapped, slamming his hands against the desk.

"Screw you Cartman!" Wendy growled three rows behind Cartman.

"I wasn't talking about you, ho!" Cartman barked, "I meant that asshole Token. He's a bitch, Clyde's a dick and you're a ho!"

"Enough!" The professor snapped from the front of the room, messaging her temples. "You will deal with your team and that's final!" There was a short staring contest between Cartman and the professor, but the teen soon gave up and sufficed with irritating Wendy. "Team two is Craig, Kenneth, Tweek and Jimmy." There were no complaints, just a quiet 'Gahh' from the back of the room. "Team three is Rebecca, Bebe, Kevin and Leopold." No complaints from that group either. "Finally, team four is Stanley, Damien, Kyle and Philip."

"Yes!" Stan punched the air over dramatically and then paused, scanned the room and slumped down in his seat. Kyle giggled, covering the blush creeping across his cheeks.

"Each group will pick one of the four fields of Anthropology we've discussed over the last few classes," She explained, "You have tonight to read over the four fields and tomorrow you come in and select, first come, first served. So I suggest you read up on all four." This gained another groan from the class. The professor sighed, "There are four of you in each group, just have one of each of you read up on the individual fields." She suggested as the bell chimed and everyone scrambled out of the room like their asses were on fire.

**Damien's POV**

I walk to my locker, tossing my heavy Anthropology text book onto the top shelf, and slamming the door immediately following. My ears pick up on the sound of foot steps behind me, "So," I turn and see Pip standing there, avoiding eye contact, "We need to work with Stanley and Kyle on this assignment."

"Lucky us," I scoff, closing the lock on my locker.

"Kyle said we could meet in the library to get some extra information before we start our assignment." He explained, still keeping his eyes locked on the tile floor under his feet. I groan, turning completely, grabbing his chin with my hand, and tilting his head up forcing him to look me in the eyes.

"You can look at me Pip," I say as softly as I can muster, "I'm not going to kill you for it." He squeaks and steps back.

"I kn-know that…" He mumbled, turning on his heal and heading toward the library. "Are you coming, Damien?" He calls to me, not looking back.

"Yeah." I reply as I follow him.


	2. Chapter 2

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**Anthropology 101: **Chapter two

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**Stan's POV **

"So what books are we looking for?" I question, glancing over at Kyle as he reaches for a book on the top shelf. The library is abnormal quiet for a room existing inside a high school. The librarians roam around the room, shushing any student that so much as coughs too loud. I keep my head low and avoid being spotted by one of the librarians making their regular rounds about the isles.

"Uhh…" He groans, straining to reach the book, "Something more on the fields that our text books don't touch on." He answers me, standing on his toes, his finger tips grazing the bindings of the book he's attempting to reach. I snicker, watching his futile efforts humorously, his emerald eyes shinning with determination and his tame auburn locks, curling slightly, and falling to frame his face. He grunts and tries again to stretch to reach the book, his shirt riding up revealing his thin frame and smooth stomach. I continue to snicker at him until he stops, flustered. "What are you laughing at?!" He barks, loud enough for me to know he's pissed but not loud enough to alert the librarians that he is raising his voice.

"A short kid trying to reach a book on a high shelf." I smirk, narrowly dodging a book he tossed at my head. It skips along the ground behind me and slides into the opposing isle. I watch as immediately following one of the librarians rush to its aide, picking it up and nuzzling it as if it were a hurt child, and then proceeding to check for its proper location in the card catalog. It's not that the librarians are weird, it's that everyone in South Park are weird, well… mainly the adults.

"Help me then you prick!" He growls through clenched teeth. "You get off on my pain?!"

"Oh yeah," I retort sarcastically, "I'm so sadistic." I walk over and grab the book with ease, handing it to him and bowing. "There we are m'lady." I coo in a mock Shakespearean accent.

"Fuck you," He grumbles, "Mock the tiny diabetic Jew why don't you."

"You're not tiny," I lie. Kyle is one of the smallest guys in our grade.

"Stan, you're six foot two, I'm five foot seven."

"Five foot seven and a half." I correct. Kyle hates being small, it doesn't help with his temper. Besides it's not really his fault; I blame his diet. He is sick a lot too; I'm always worrying about him.

"That doesn't matter." He tells me, playfully punching my shoulder. "You think Damien and Pip will get here soon? I want to get this reading over and done with." I grab my text book from my bag and take a seat next the shelf on the floor. Kyle follows, bringing along the book I pulled off the shelf for him and taking a seat next to me.

"Don't know," I reply, flipping through my text book, "What are the four fields?" I mumble to myself.

"Biological Anthropology, Linguistic Anthropology, Socio-cultural Anthropology and Archeology." Kyle replies, not taking his eyes off his book.

"I wasn't asking anyone in particular." I joke, nudging him with my elbow.

"Well I answered your question," He replies still not taking his eyes off the book, "Besides, if you did the reading, like actually opened your book, you might have known that since it's sort of important."

"Thanks, mom," I joke, poking him, "I DID open my book, see," I hold me text book out in front of him; he glances up raising a brow. "It's no longer in the plastic." I explain smugly.

"Opening it to look at the colorful pictures doesn't count."

"Aww, but dude, these pictures are so bright and fun." I whine, playing at my best 'don't treat me like a kid' voice. I see him smile lightly, as he tries to hide it behind the book. He'll never admit how easily I can make him smile. I groan and stretch my arms out, stuffing my hand into my bag and ruffling around.

"What are you doing?" He asks, still not taking his eyes off the book.

"Water bottle." I reply stuffing my other hand into my bag. I here him snicker lightly as a whine and continue searching for my sustenance. I continue to whine as I hear the sound of Kyle digging through his bag. I hear the sound of a cap being popped off and I turn to see Kyle taking a swig of what looks like my water bottle. He stops, exhales and grins at me. "Hey! That's my water-"

"Your water bottle, mhmm." He replies smugly.

"Give it back," I command, leaning over and grabbing onto the bottle, "It's mine!"

"You said I could barrow it," Kyle replied, keeping a strong grip on the bottle, "You just weren't paying attention when I asked is all."

"Well it's mine, give it here."

"Fine." He smiles, squirting a small stream of water into my face from the bottle. I bring my arm up and dry my face off in my sweater sleeve. "Aww, Stan, you're all wet." He smiles and I groan, still wiping my face dry.

"I wanted a sip from the water bottle," I explain trying to not show Kyle the fact that I'm about to burst out laughing. "Can I have a drink from MY water bottle?" He touches his index finger to his lower lip and smiles.

"You may," He holds the bottle out, the top facing me, without letting go of the base. "Take a drink, then I'll refill it." I toss him a 'are you serious' look and he just keeps grinning. I put my lips to the top of the water bottle and he just bursts out laughing. "Holy crap dude." He manages to spit out between bouts of hysterical laugher. "You actually did it!"

"Shut up!" I snap, my face reddening from embarrassment, he isn't even trying to keep his voice down, "I'm thirsty!"

"Well just look at these faggots," We both stop and look over at Cartman who was standing in the isle holding books for their group's research assignment. We can barely see his face over the stack of old dusty books that he's carrying in his pudgy arms. "Dude, Stan, can't you wait until you get home to violate the Jew and bring shame to your people?"

"Shut your mouth Cartman!" Kyle snaps, flinging my water bottle which makes contact with Cartman's nose.

"Ahh, you fucking Jew!" He whines, dropping his books and holding his hand to his nose.

"Cartman! You dropped all the books!" Wendy comes up beside Cartman, punching him in the arm and kneeling down to gather the discarded books from the floor.

"Ain't my fault ho," Cartman grumbles in his defense pinching the bridge of his nose, "Blame the Jew, its history's method for solving conflicts." Wendy sighs; standing back up, adjusting her grasp on the books, and glares at Cartman.

"Let's go."

"Fine." He growls, not letting go on his nose, he turns and follows her down the isle. From a distance he can still be heard whining. "Oh and thanks for caring about my nose, bitch." I continue to look at them as they disappear behind a book shelf.

"You can get off me now," I turn my attention back to Kyle, who I had forgotten I'd pined on the floor. "Unless you're going somewhere with this." He cooes. I snicker, and push myself off him.

"Right, sorry," I grab my water bottle and take a swig.

"Aww, you're not stopping now are you?" I dart my head around trying to find the source of the voice.

"Who said that?" Kyle asks me, also looking around.

"What good is setting myself up here if Cartman has to come and ruin the fucking moment?" We both turn our attention to the book shelf and then toss each other skeptical glances.

"Did those books just talk?" I ask Kyle, as he stands up and brushes his pants off. He walks over and pulls a book down from the shelf which reveals a mess of dirty blonde hair and bright blue eyes.

"Kenny, peeping in the library, really? This is a new level of desperate." Kyle groans, pushing the book back into place on the shelf, causing Kenny to whine and recoil, once the book is back in place Kyle returns to his spot next to me on the ground. I watch as Kenny appears from the other side of the shelf, sneaking over to Kyle, kneeling down and draping his arms around Kyle's shoulders.

"Playin' hard to get, are we Broflovski?" He whispers, rather loudly, to Kyle in a smooth tone. He receives a swift smack to the side of the head and is soon seated closer to me then Kyle, clutching his jaw and groaning.

"Where were you today Kenny?" I inquire as he shoots childish angry glares at Kyle, who doesn't take notice because his nose in back in the book.

"I had things to do." He replies, snatching my water bottle and taking a sip.

"You missed Mrs. Leakey's lecture."

"Oh dear me," He mocks, grabbing over dramatically at the front of his parka, "I do believe I might faint."

"We have an assignment." Kyle grumbles, still not taking his eyes off his book.

"Really? Sweet, what are we doing?" He beams, tossing my water bottle back to me.

"Not we, you're in a different group." Kyle corrects and Kenny puffs up his cheeks in frustration.

"That bitch hates me," He groans, standing up, "Who am I with then? Someone cute?" He asks me with a mischievous smirk playing across his lips.

"I think you're in a group with Craig and Tweek." I reply, opening my text book and flipping through the pages.

"Jimmy too." Kyle adds, as he turns the page he's on to the next.

"Right then," He grins, pulling back his hood and shaking his hair free. "Check you guys later." He goes to leave and then quickly turns back around and grabs at the left ear flap of Kyle's trademark ushanka. He swiftly twists the hat around so the flap is covering Kyle's eyes and then he drums his hands lightly against the top of Kyle's head. Kyle starts to visibly shake from anger and a try to scoot away, holding my text book protectively in front of my body to shield me from Kenny's remains, which will go flying in every direction once Kyle releases his wrath on him.

"… Kenny…" Kyle growls, as Kenny take a few steps backward, keeping his signature smirk on his face. "I'm… going… to… fucking… murder you…" Kyle rambles out, coldly. He brings his left hand up and turns his hat back into its correction placement and shoots daggers at Kenny in the form of ice cold glares. "I'll kill you in cold blood!" He lunges forward, missing Kenny as he turns and dashes down the isle and disappears around the corner.

We can still hear him screaming after he turns the corner, "Mad Jew, run for your lives!"

"Dear God, save us!" We hear Cartman add, off in the distance, muffled by the sounds of snickering.

"Your God won't save you," A monotone voice breaks apart the bout of snickering and the library turns deathly silent. The sounds of footsteps are heard and we soon see Damien turn the corner, hands in his pockets and bangs hanging over his eyes, walking towards us. Pip in tow. He seats himself nonchalantly down and Pip obediently takes the vacant spot next to him.

"'Ello chaps." Pip chimes, "Shall we begin working now?"

"Sure thing Pip." I reply, as he pulls his text book out from his small tanned bag. He undoes the buckle and digs out a note pad and pencil. I keep my eyes on Damien, who has his arms crossed in front of his chest with his eyes closed. This will be fun.

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**A/N: **

Hey all hope everyone is enjoying it so far. I know not much is going on; it'll get heavier into later chapters. There may also be some additional pairings added. We'll have to see.

-Kon


	3. Chapter 3

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**Anthropology 101:** Chapter three

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**Kyle's POV**

A little over an hour had passed since our group gathered, and I was the only one who had completed their research. I had called on Biological Anthropology as it's the most interesting. Obviously. However, Stan would disagree. He called on doing Socio-Cultural Anthropology. Pip selected Linguistic Anthropology, and Damien was left with Archeology.

"Are we done yet?" Stan groaned, dropping his text book on the floor with a heavy thud.

"Let me see your notes," I answered, extending my arm to grab his note pad. He reluctantly handed it over and I read it aloud, "Socio-Cultural Anthropology focuses on-" I abruptly ended as the sentence did. I shook off my frustration and glared at Stan. "In an hour, you did nothing?"

He fell back, stretching his legs, and tapping his right foot against my knee, "It's not that I did 'nothing' it's that I wrote nothing." He continued to tap my knee at a rhythmic beat with his foot and I slapped it away.

"This isn't funny Stan," I grumble, "We need to get this done; I don't care if you're not interested in this subject."

"I'm interested in Anthropology," He corrected. I raise a brow skeptically.

"Really?"

"Yes, I'm just not interested in doing homework," He tosses a side glance in Damien's direction, "Damien, you're bored aren't you?" Damien just shrugged.

"It doesn't matter; you and your wife need to work this out."

"Wife!?" I snap, puffing my cheeks in frustration, and then trying to shake the redness that was slowly heating them.

"You're arguing like a fifty year old married couple, do us all a favor and just have a quick fuck in the broom closet over there," He gestures toward a janitorial storage closest with his thumb. "If it'll mean I don't have to listen to your bitching anymore, I'm all for your sins against God." I exhale, defeated I grab my books and start shoving them into my bag.

"What 'cha doing Kyle?" Stan questions; resting his weight on his elbows so he can look at me.

"Leaving." I reply coldly. I'm not in the mood for this.

"Why?" He asks, lying back fully and twirling a strand of his hair between his fingers.

"We're not getting anywhere, fast, so I'm going home."

"Can I come with you?" He asks again, sitting up and pouting, emphasizing his quivering lower lip. I groan in protest and he starts to whimper.

"Fine." I hiss, standing and swinging my bag over my shoulder.

"Are you leavin' then chaps?" Pip questions, lying his book down in his lap.

"Yeah." I answer.

"Right-o, what should I do with my notes?"

"You actually wrote notes?" I questioned, surprised. I was used to working with Stan, Kenny and Cartman. Stan and Kenny never did work in class; they always managed to throw something together at the last minute. Cartman tended to always weasel his way out of doing any work with one of his stupid schemes. He always shared our grade somehow though.

"Well… of course, you said we were supposed to work." He replied with a warm smile. I looked over at Damien who, without a word, held out a piece of paper with red ink.

"You both actually made notes? I'm… impressed." Stan huffed and grabbed my hand and squeezed.

"I'll write notes too! Let's go to your house, and I'll write them while you watch!" Was he jealous? No, that can't be it.

"Alright Stan," I reply. "Let's get going." I look back to Pip, who takes Damien's notes from him clipping them to his own notes, he then hands me both sets of notes. "Thanks." I say, sliding the notes into my bag along with my own.

"Which field would you like to select?" Pip asks me.

"Hmm, well, I'll read over your notes and let you guys know what I think tomorrow, okay?" He smiles cheerfully and nods. "Good, bye." Stan tugs my arm and I proceed to be dragged out of the library.

**Pip's POV**

"Aren't you cold Damien?" I ask, tightening my scarf to shield my face from the icy cold wind.

"No." He replied simply. Hands in his pockets and a sullen expression on his face, I watched him as we walked down the side walk. Damien had been back in town for a few months now, and it seemed that every day we were together. I consider it as such do to the fact he is living with me. He hadn't planned far into the future when his father asked him suddenly to go up to earth to complete his high school diploma, so he turned to the only friend he'd ever had on earth. Me. I was rather flattered that Damien still picked to spend his free time with me, I enjoyed the company. Before Damien returned I was continuously ridiculed by a handful of the other students, and ignored by the rest.

"Are you alright?" I snap my attention and meet with Damien's piercing crimson eyes; they really glowed against the pale moon light. "You keep spacing out."

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry, how rude of me."

"It's no big deal, calm down." He chuckled, winking at me. I blush furiously, and bury my face into my scarf. I hear him chuckle and I peer at him. "You're cute you know that?" He tells me, I watch as his breath escapes his lips and clouds into the frosty air, dissipating in front of his stunningly handsome face.

"Th-thank-you." I stutter out, both from a mixture of embarrassment and the cold weather.

"No need to thank me, Pip squeak." He flashes me a toothy grin and I shudder at the sight of the light gleaming off his pearly white fangs. He stops walking abruptly and I turn my head around to look back at him.

"Are you quite alright Damien?" I question, looking confusedly at him. He nods and walks over to me. Towering over my tiny form, I let out a small squeak in surprise and he smiles down at me again. I back away a little, uncomfortable with the close proximity of myself to him.

"Are you afraid?" He asks me, raising a brow.

"A-afraid?" I parrot.

"Yeah," He walks to me again and I continue to take cautious steps backward until I touch my back up against the trunk of a large oak tree. He corners me against the tree and continues to stare down at me. "We've been living together," he says, taking another step closer to me, "Spending all our time together," another step closer to me, "Eating together," yet another step, "Going to school together," another step still, "And sleeping in the same bed together." His final step as he darts his hand down, taking hold of my right wrist. I yelp as he pins the arm up, beside my head, against the tree.

"D-Damien…" I murmur, his thick black bangs tickling my forehead. I snap my eyes shut and try to ignore the sensation of the skin on my hand scraping against the bark of the tree. He was applying pressure, but only enough to hold me in place, not enough to cause my skin to break against the roughness of the tree's skin.

"All that time together," He mumbles; I listen to a mixture of the sound of my own heart beating against my rib cage, and his subtle breathing. "And you're still afraid of me." He trails off at the last few words, and tightens the grip on my wrist ever so slightly. I squirm under his control, and I attempt to free myself with my other hand. I place it against his chest and try to gently push him back. "Stop fighting me Pip," He grumbles, "I don't want to hurt you." I freeze and recoil my free hand, holding it protectively across my own chest. "Why are you afraid of me Pip?" He questions, raising his head so his eyes meet my own.

"I'm no-not-"

"Don't lie to me! If you weren't afraid you wouldn't be trying to get away!" He snaps and I cringe at his tone. He brings his free hand up to raise my chin so our faces are inches apart. His breath feels warm and smells sweat, with a subtle hint of ashes. I inhale slightly, taking in his intoxicating scent.

"I don't wa-want to be afraid of you Damien…" I assure, putting my forehead against his chest. I listen for a heart beat, but hear nothing. I close my eyes and try to concentrate on hearing something, but his chest cavity sounds completely hallow. I whimper into the front of his jet black sweater and he releases my hand. It falls limply to my side and he steps back slightly. I raise my head and look at him. His face is painted with a sullen expression once more and his eyes have dulled from a fury filled bright crimson to a tame deep red. I look at him skeptically and he sighs.

"You can run away now," He runs his hands through his hair, shaking it afterwards, the inky ebony shade of his hair reflecting the eerie glow of the full moon. I consider his words. Was he testing me? Did he want to see if I would flee and never look back? Would he leave if I did so? Would he… hate me? I took a step forward and wrapped my arms around his waist and once again buried my face into the front of his sweater.

"I won't run away Damien." I tell him, and at that instance I heard it. A thud beat against his rib cage. It was faint, but unmistakable. "I'm sorry Damien," I begin, tightening my grip on his waist, "I'm sorry for being afraid, I'm sorry for not being strong," I hear his faint heart beat again. "But I'm especially sorry for hurting you." There is silence and I feel comfortable enough to pull my head back so I can look him in the eyes. To my surprise they're calm.

"Pip…" He brings his arms up, wrapping one around my shoulder. He brings his free hand up to place against my face, but hesitates. I move over and nuzzle my cheek against his hand. It's warm. He's always warm. "You mean that?" He asks. I nod. He removes his hand away from my cheek and swiftly places it under my chin, forcing my head up and connecting our lips. My eyes shoot open in surprise, but I slowly close them and sink into the kiss. He deepens the kiss, running his tongue along my lower lip. He then forces it into my mouth, and runs his tongue over my own. I let out a tiny moan and he pulls back; his eyes once again ablaze in a frightening tone of bright crimson. He pushes me back, knocking me over and pinning me in the snow. He pulls his mouth away from my own and begins nipping at my neck. I whimper from the stinging sensation coming from the trail of bite marks he's decorating my neck with. He continues biting, at first gently but soon much more forcibly.

"Damien… yo-you're hurting m-me…" I whine, tears escaping my eyes and slipping down my cheeks. I grab hold of his shoulders and try to push myself away, he growls in protest and sinks his teeth deeper, breaking the skin, causing me the bleed. I let out a tiny whimper of pain. "Pl-please stop… Damien… I said I would tr-try to not be afraid…" I murmur out, through tears and sharp intakes of air. He stops and I can hear his steady breathing, he opens his mouth, letting go of the flesh he had bitten down into on my collar bone. He pulls himself away slightly, trickles of my blood running from the corners of his mouth. I put my hand against the bite mark and hiss at the sudden pain. The bleeding isn't excessive, but it does hurt, and it pinches being exposed to the cold air.

"…Pip?" He shakes his head and looks down at me, eyes once again dulled into a tame deep red. "…what…" He brought his hands up and touched the left corner of his mouth, running his tongue over the spot and lapping away the residual blood that had remained. "Whose blood…" His eyes went wide and he looked back at my neck, he ran his fingers over the bite marks and paused on the bloodied one. "…Pip, holy shit, I didn't mean to I-"

"It's quite alright Damien," I smile trying to brighten the situation, "I know you didn't mean it."

"But Pip, why didn't you try to stop me?" He questions, resting his forehead against my own, "I could have really hurt you."

"I promised," I began, running my hand through his tussled inky hair, "I promised I wouldn't run away." He stared at me, stunned.

"You really meant it…"

"I did."

"I won't do this again, you have to believe me." He begins, leaning down and apologetically licking the blood away from the wound. I shudder from the sensation of his warm tongue against my cold skin. "I won't let this happen again." He assures raising his head and planting a soft kiss on my cheek. He stands up, offering me a hand and pulling me to stand beside him. He gently brushes the snow off my back and out of my hair.

"I believe you Damien," I smile, "I do."

"We should head home; I'll clean that out better for you." I nodded and followed him home.

---

**A/N: **

Sappy, sappy, SAPPY! Dx

I'm sorry for the sappiness of it all.

But Dip makes me a happy fangirl.

This was changed slightly after a friend reviewed it, it was WAY sappier before.

Okay, more Style next. Yay.

-Kon


	4. Chapter 4

**Anthropology 101: **Chapter four

Pip's legs swayed lightly back and forth as he waited patiently on the bathroom counter. His azure blue eyes scanned the bathroom contently, tracing the checkered tile floor aimlessly, counting them as he waited. The floor tiles were no bigger than five inches by five inches, patterning between a dulled eggshell white and a soft evergreen. Pip stared at the floor, it reminding him of a chess board, as his mind wandered to his beloved game. Chess was the game of kings, he was told, and learned to play at a young age.

His gaze continued up the wall, the wallpaper torn and stained in many areas, repeating a sickly dated seventies flower print. The backdrop was an odd pale yellow, with the flowers varying from reds, to oranges, to purples. Years of living in the house had desensitized him to the sheer ugliness of the decorative wall cover.

Inhaling solemnly, the blonde released a heavy sigh, looking back to the bathroom door. Damien had slipped out nearly ten minutes ago and had yet to return as he said he would. Pip looked over his shoulder, catching his reflection in the dirtied mirror, tracing it up to the seven light bulbs that ran along above it. The Brit frowned, noticing that there were only three working lights left, the fourth having gone out recently, and he could see one of the remaining three flickering weakly.

The blonde strummed his fingers against the granite counter top where he was seated. He looked down, wondering quietly to himself why the original decorators thought that the navy blue matched the flooring and wallpaper. In the center of the counter was a rustic looking sink, stained over the years from use, with a metallic tap. Next to the counter was the toilet, Pip grimaced at the thought of the foul porcelain contraption. It leaked, it was loud and obnoxious, and worst of all it reeked something awful. No matter how often the blonde scrubbed it clean, bleached it, or kept from using it the stench never stopped. His adoptive parents had told him that he was to use only this bathroom, as it was designated for his use, but whenever they weren't home he'd sneak into the good bathroom to relieve himself.

"This is an ugly bathroom," Damien stated blandly, walking back into the dimly lit bathroom, standing in front of the sink, "you should just burn it down and try again." Pip smiled embarrassedly, rubbing the back of his neck shyly.

"I'm not too fond of it myself," The blonde replied sheepishly, "but over time it seems I've just adjusted to it."

"Tragic," The ebony haired demon frowned, offering up a roll of gauze in one hand and a tube of Polysporin in the other, "let me clean out the bites before I bandage them." Pip bobbed his head understandingly, slipping his sweater up and over his head, diligently unbuttoning his dress shirt. The Satan spawn set down his items onto the counter beside the Brit, turning on the tap, the pips clanking to life being followed by a spurt or water and then a steady flow. "Even these pipes are shitty," He spat bitterly, "this room is falling apart, seriously, just set it aflame."

"Burning things isn't the answer," Pip corrected, tossing his button up shirt and sweater out of the bathroom into his bedroom.

"Burning things is the answer to all of life's problems," Damien retorted with a devilish smirk, "fire is such a useful element. Unlike that snooty water."

"Elements have personality?" The human blinked curiously. Damien shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly in reply.

"Of course they do," He assured knowingly, "water is conceited and arrogant, boastful and emotionally unstable. Earth is normally passive, bit of a pushover, but capable of fighting back when least expected. Wind is solitary, powerful, but is one of the easiest to manipulate. And fire is powerful, but vicious and malicious, it has a one track mind - to consume. Then you have metal-"

"Metal isn't an element," Pip interrupted, his brow knitting confusedly.

"Yes it is," Damien crossed his arm over his chest.

"No it isn't." The blonde human argued.

"Which of us was born in the seventh layer of Hell?" The crimson eyed male quirked a brow boastfully, "I think if it was between the son of Satan and a human, I'd know more about this subject." The blonde rolled his blue eyes expressive, shaking his head.

"Alright, but I've never read anywhere that metal is an accepted element."

"Well it is," Damien assured with a wave of his hand, "metal is one of the more common elements, and pretty commonly used in alchemy; that's one way you can actually know it's an element. If you use it in alchemy, it's an element."

"Oh," Pip replied dumbly, swaying his legs once more, "I'll have to take your word on this topic it seems." Damien hummed in response, washing his hands now that the water had finally heated to a boiling point, enjoying the heat. Pip looked over bewilderedly, seeing the steam crawling up from the sink, fogging up the mirror in front of it. "Does it not hurt to put your hand under water as hot as that?"

"Obviously not if I'm doing it," Damien scoffed teasingly, "cold water bothers me, Hell even room temperature water does, but nice boiling hot water reminds me of home." Pip stared, watching the demon sterilize his hands under the heated water, as Damien raised his hands up and shook them dry. He patted them off against his skinny jeans, raising one hand up to switch the tap off, grabbing hold of the tube of Polysporin. "Okay, lean your head over so I can access all the marks."

"Alright," Pip squeaked, lulling his head to the side, exposing all the reddened marks decorating his flawless ivory skin. Damien squeezed the tube, smearing a large dollop of the cream against the blonde's neck, rubbing it gently into the wounds. Pip hissed uncomfortably through gritted teeth, trying to ignore the subtle sting, not to mention the inhuman warmth emanating from the demon's hands.

"Hold still," Damien grumbled, "you're only making it harder by squirming." Pip bit down on his lower lip, stifling a tiny whimper, trying to do his best to keep from upsetting the ebony haired male. "Good boy." The demon praised with a grin. He continued to rub the cream into the open gashes, pulling his hands away, leaning in to inspect his handiwork. Nodding acceptingly, Damien reached for and uncurled the bundle of gauze, gingerly lifting Pip's right arm to wrap the bandage over the bites on his shoulder. Continuing, Damien bandaged the blonde's collar bone, and then finished with the bites on the smaller male's neck. "And we're done." He smiled, ghosting his fingers over the bandages, making the blonde shiver.

"Th-thank-you." Pip blushed, looking away. Damien nodded, gathering up the remaining gauze and tube of Polysporin, exiting the bathroom without a word. Pip stayed still for a brief moment, unsure whether or not to follow the demon, finally opting to leave the bathroom before the stench of the horrid toilet caused him to pass out.

-xx

"I'm not sure how you always manage to weasel your way into weekday sleepovers," Kyle shook his head, dropping his text books onto his bedroom desk, looking back over his shoulder at his ebony haired friend. Stan returned the statement with a boastful grin.

"Must be because people just love to give me what I want," The blue eyed boy replied, "besides, you know your mom adores me."

"Probably more than I do." Kyle bit back insultingly.

"That's not very nice," Stan scolded, walking over to the auburn Jew's bed, dropping down tiredly, "we're supposed to be super best friends."

"We are," Kyle shrugged, sliding into his computer chair, opening one of the text books he had dropped down onto the table, "get out your notes; you're the only one who has them left to write." Stan groaned aloud, causing Kyle to cover a tiny smile that played on his lips, before dejectedly sitting up.

"Where's my bag?" Stan looked around curiously.

"By the door," Kyle answered without taking his eyes of his work.

"Excellent," Stan smiled, pushing off the mattress and walking over to the door, grabbing his bag he quickly moved back and dropped back down onto Kyle's bed. Opening his bag, Stan slipped his books out, popping them open in his lap. He clicked his pen, knocking open his textbook at his side, scribbling down on his pad of paper. Kyle's green eyes drifted over to his friend, watching Stan's serious expression as he snapped his own eyes between his textbook and notes, rolling his shoulders and sighing contently.

-xx

Nearly an hour had passed when Kyle tiredly blinked his eyes open. Groggily he looked over to his digital clock at his bedside, the red numbers blinking nine forty-seven. The curly haired teen stared at the numbers for a moment, the time finally registering, as he stifled a sleepy yawn and stretched out to relieve soreness. He wasn't sure when he'd fallen asleep, but was grateful he hadn't drooled onto his paperwork. Kyle pushed out of his computer chair, stepping around it, walking over to his bed. He looked down at Stan, who must have fallen asleep shortly after he did, smiling fondly at his lightly snoring friend. Stan had sprawled out across the bed, his pad of paper and pen having fallen onto Kyle's carpeted bedroom floor, while his text book remained at his left side. Kyle shook his head, leaning over the ebony haired teen, gingerly grabbing the text book in his hands. He closed it gently, placing it on his bedside table, moving to scoop up Stan's discarded notes and writing utensils next.

"Did you actually write notes?" Kyle questioned aloud, reading over Stan's notes as he raised them to eye level, quirking a brow. "Socio-cultural Anthropology is one of the four branches of Anthropological study. A holistic study of humanity that examines culture as a meaningful scientific concept." The auburn teen paused reading over his friend's notes briefly, looking down at Stan, who stirred lightly. Kyle snickered, amused that Stan had fallen asleep on his bed while doing his homework, his shirt riding up to reveal his trim stomach. Kyle rolled his green eyes expressive, skimming Stan's notes, smiling appraisingly. Reading through things such as Sir Edward Tyler, learning process, arm chair anthropologists, cultural evolution and so on. "Impressive." Kyle hummed to himself. "Good job Stan."

The older teen turned on his heel, dropping Stan's notes onto his textbook, moving to slip off his clothes and switch into his pajamas. After changing, Kyle clicked off his bedroom lights, shuffling over to his bedside and readying his bed for the night. With great difficultly, and somewhat awkwardly, Kyle managed to get Stan under the covers and off to one side so there was room for himself. "G'night Stan." Kyle yawned, crawling into his bed and snuggling under the covers, resting his head down on his pillow.

"G'night Kyle," Stan murmured quietly, cuddling up closer to Kyle.


End file.
